In which I partied like it was 1999: all. night. long.

Friday I rolled out of work at five and went straight to Amazon Blonde’s, where I made the Most Brilliant Batch of Pico de Gallo Ever while she made some really incredible guacamole. Then I smoked a cig with Truck on the back deck and he told me about insurance adjusting school.

I went home to get Bread. He wanted to get him some nookie but I didn’t want to give it to him, so he sulked for awhile we didn’t get to the party for two hours.

When we did arrive, the party was in full swing. I sat and grazed on yummy food for awhile, then Ray poured me a cup of her delicious sangria. Both Ray and Gorgeous are totally stoved up; Ray has a ruptured disc and Gorgeous was in that horrible car accident and they’re both in constant pain… they move with a kind of intentional delicacy that makes me feel bad for them.

Eventually the party moved to the bar. I went with Ray and Gorgeous on a few errands — to get Mother’s b-day present from Gorgeous’ house, drop by Ray’s so she could get cash, buy myself cigarettes — and we arrived at the bar sometime around eleven. We started with shots of tuaca.

Eventually the rest of Amazon Blonde’s party arrived as well. We did the bar thing: sit here, sit there, stand in line for the bathroom, stand in line for drinks, socialize socialize socialize. It was loud and packed and fun.

My favorite image is of Amazon Blonde, sitting at the bar, cuddly drunk and cute, with an empty sangria container in her arms. She was diligently eating all the fruit out of the bottom. She was surrounded by people who kept bumping into her and jostling her, but she was quietly focused on getting her hand into the jar and her hand to her mouth. Bread ended up taking her home later. I haven’t spoken to her, but I’d imagine she was hung as hell the next day.

We closed the bar. Ray had the afterparty. A lot of people came over; there were groups in the living room, the kitchen, the porch, and two or three in the basement.

At one point, maybe around three or four in the morning, the Son of God went outside and found a hefty length of pipe and brought it in with the intention of beating some dumb drunk redneck with it, but Ray asked the dumb drunk redneck to leave in such a sweet manner that he was out the door before he had a chance to notice he’d been ousted. At another point, Mother had me nearly in tears with her stories of being a graveyard-shift clerk in a porn shop back in college. (Especially funny was her story about the night she realized how much sperm was on the floor: she’d just suddenly figured out one night that all those men walking out of the booths in back had spunk on their shoes, and she got a visual of billions and billions of sperm in the rug. I was laughing so hard I nearly wet myself!)

We ended up staying up all night and crashing in one of Ray’s kids’ beds at dawn. Bread woke me up a few hours later, around nine-ish, because he was feeling the need to go home and let the dogs out. I had a splitting headache — sangria, tequila, tuaca, vodka cranberry, jello shots — yes, I broke the cardinal rule and mixed my drinks. A lot. And three hours of sleep just ain’t enough.

We walked to BoSe’s house, where Bread’s truck was parked, stopped for coffee and drove home. Bread crashed immediately on the couch. I stayed up until late afternoon accomplishing absolutely nothing and then crashed too.

…and slept until eleven on Sunday morning.

Sunday afternoon I went to band practice. Our drummer’s getting married and moving to San Diego, the little whore! So the band that never gigs will continue to never gig. Snow called KeFa and he dropped by; if he’s interested he may become our new drummer. The point is, I have never been in a band that gigs as little as this one does. PJK told us about visiting a whorehouse in China: it was totally fascinating but we kept making jokes so he never really did get to completely clarify his point about the experience and how it made him reevaluate sex roles. Anyway. God damn I love those people.

Got home after practice and was going to go to bed at ten like a good girl, but having only been up for eleven hours I wasn’t tired. I read for awhile, then meditated, but didn’t fall asleep until one. I woke up at three on the office futon and moved to bed, where Bread was being a combat sleeper from hell and woke me up every ten minutes for the next five hours with his rolling, blanket stealing, snoring, farting, mumbling, snorting, and general spazziness.

And he wonders why I prefer the futon.